


Leftovers - A Sentinel Thanksgiving Story

by Spencer5460



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Possibly Pre-Slash, Thanksgiving, mentions of Naomi - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 11:50:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12793953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spencer5460/pseuds/Spencer5460
Summary: Some things are just too good to throw away.





	Leftovers - A Sentinel Thanksgiving Story

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place early in season one. Thanks to Mvernet for the beta. I'm thankful for you every day.

“Blair, honey, I know you wouldn't want me to pass up this chance to go to Phuket. The beaches are simply magical this time of year. Henri’s been talking about this trip for months. I don't want to disappoint him.”

Super acute hearing had its obvious advantages on his job as a detective, but at home Jim Ellison wished he could turn it off. He felt downright traitorous listening in on Blair’s conversation with his free-spirited mother. Even more, he wished he could turn off the emotional connection he felt with his roomie. The disappointment and rejection Blair was feeling just then touched Jim like a live wire. 

He was confident when confronting the coldest of killers, but Jim had always felt out of his depth in the face of powerful feelings. 

“No, no of course not, Mom. It's not that big a deal, anyway. Go have a good time.” Blair said dutifully into the mouthpiece. 

Bullshit, Jim thought. Spending Thanksgiving with his only relative was a big deal to Blair. After all, Blair truly believed in the importance of cultural rituals. Family bonding and all that. 

On the other hand, holidays like Thanksgiving held no hope that Jim would be sharing the day an assortment of colorful but loving relatives. Thanksgiving was just another meal - albeit an elaborate one - eaten across the table from his cold and distant father, his antagonistic brother. 

Maybe this new anger stemmed from his awareness that Blair's mother _was_ still around yet she threw these precious moments with her son away. As if some exotic locale or intriguing lover could replace them.

Jim had no idea where his mother was - or if she was even still alive. She left when he was young and afterward his father refused to discuss her. Jim barely remembered what she looked like. Jim would give anything to spend just one holiday together as a whole, healthy family. 

Jim shook his head. After his divorce he’d grown used to spending holidays alone. The quicker they passed, the better.

But Blair was different. He still believed in the goodness of humanity. In the ability of loved ones to grow closer through shared cultural experiences. Like pigging out on roast turkey and sage dressing. 

Jim clenched his fists as he fought the urge to set Blair straight. Sometimes families are nothing more than shared DNA. A thousand pieces of pumpkin pie wouldn't change that. If Naomi couldn't see how important Thanksgiving dinner was to her sensitive and nerdy son, she could fly halfway across the world and stay there for all Jim cared. 

Blair set down the phone. “Naomi can't make it for Thanksgiving. Something came up.”

_Sure, Chief. If you want to pretend I didn't hear your conversation, I'll play along._

“That's too bad.” 

Blair came over to sit on the arm of the couch where Jim sat watching the Redskins play the Cowboys, as if he were interested in the game. The Redskins were losing. Typical. If Jim stayed focused on the action on the field maybe he could dial down the hurt he felt emanating from Blair. 

By the end of third quarter Jim knew it wasn't working. Blair had remained uncharacteristically quiet yet to Jim his feelings were deafening. Funny how all the emotions Jim had worked for years to suppress had reawakened the past few months since Blair had moved in. Jim’s senses weren't the only things that had become heightened. 

“So what are you going to do on Thanksgiving?” Jim asked at last. 

“I guess I'll put some extra time in on my dissertation. Actually this is a good thing. Really.” Blair added but Jim didn't know which one of them he was trying to convince. “Between my teaching schedule and tagging after you, I've fallen behind. What about you?”

“I’m picking up an extra shift at the department,” Jim said. “You know, taking up the slack so the married guys can spend the holiday with their families.”

“That’s a good thing, Jim,” Blair nodded. “Families should be together.” 

Jim couldn't overlook the irony in his tone. 

ooOOoo

The office had been empty most of the day and the phones were quiet. Major Crimes only dealt with the grimmest of emergencies on days like today. For a few short hours at least, it seemed even death was taking a holiday. But Jim knew the quiet wouldn't last. Experience told him that, in fact, along with festivities and good cheer, holidays came with particularly vicious layers of stress, loneliness and interpersonal discord - a virtual petri dish of violence waitng to germinate. 

Jim flipped through some unfinished reports on his desk and pictured Blair back at the loft, sorting through his own paperwork. Maybe with a half eaten cheese sandwich on a paper plate next to him. Was he still upset about his mother or was he blissfully buried in his research? 

Jim leaned his head into his palms and pressed. Their relationship was only supposed to be collegial, but damn it, the kid was getting to him - over-long hair, questionable body jewelry and all. Jim hated getting too close to anyone. He'd lost too much already. 

Ten minutes after two, the doors to the bullpen pushed open and Simon Banks strode in, performing an impressive balancing act with numerous Tupperware containers of varying sizes and shapes in his arms. 

“Hey, Jim,” he greeted. 

Jim quickly discerned that Simon’s dishes held the remnants of a traditional Thanksgiving feast. The combined aromas of turkey, dressing, sweet potatoes and green beans set the super-sensitized tastebuds in his mouth watering. 

“Hey yourself,” Jim responded as he pushed away from his desk and stood up. “All’s quiet on the western front. What brings you here? I thought you’d be home with Daryl.”

“Daryl and I ate early. Then I took him over to his mom’s so he could have dinner with her side of the family. I suppose we've created a new Banks’ family tradition. We both get to spend part of the holiday with him and he gets to eat twice. So it's a win for everyone.” Simon flashed Jim a set of big white teeth and Jim smiled back. 

“Anyway, we had plenty of leftovers that will just go bad, so I thought I'd bring some for you and . . . Blair.”

The way Simon had linked Blair and Jim together gave Jim's heart a little twist. “I appreciate that Simon.”

“Well, I knew neither of you had plans for today. So here,” Simon handed the silver-wrapped dishes over to Jim, “take these and go home. I'll hold down the fort.”

“Are you sure?” Jim asked, relieving the captain of his stack. Although the dishes had cooled Jim could still feel the faintest residual warmth. 

“Sure.” Simon opened the door to his inner office and pulled off his heavy, tan trench coat. The dark splotches on its shoulders was evidence of the damp weather outside. In Cascade, rain was a ritual itself. Simon hung the coat on a nearby hook and turned back to Jim. “Blair being at home alone with you here pushing papers, it just doesn’t seem right. Take the goodies back to Blair and enjoy.” 

ooOOoo 

So the quirky kid had gotten to Simon, too, Jim thought to himself on the drive home. When had his no-nonsense captain turned into Father Flanagan? Maybe it was Simon’s divorce and his struggling relationship with Daryl that had softened him up. But Jim had to hand it to him. While Simon’s hope of a traditional family had faded from view like mountain peaks on a foggy day, he was working to create something just as spectacular. A new and improved relationship with his son. 

A cold drizzle coated the windshield of Jim’s truck. Just as soon as the wipers brushed the accumulated droplets off his windshield, more appeared. He blinked in an effort not to zone in on the hypnotic motion of the wipers - something he and Blair had practiced.

Thoughts circled in his head as he sat at the intersection of Drummond and Third. It was just another day in Cascade. What makes one more special than another? He could almost hear Blair explain in his earnest way how holidays served an important function in societies. ‘Hey man, lighten up!’ Blair’s voice declared animatedly in his head. ‘Holidays are a way to honor our collective past, but they do more than that. They prepare us for the future. Rosh Hashanah, Kwanzaa, Diwali - it’s all the same. Shared traditions tie us together.’ 

Jim turned onto Prospect and picked up the mesmerizing beat of one of Blair’s aboriginal tracks, then parked the truck on the street below the loft. He smiled slightly as he remembered how he’d heard similar sounds coming from Blair’s office at the university just before he'd burst in on him. Before Jim had even known who he was. Before the capricious academic had turned his world upside down. Jim had pushed him hard against a wall holding little back, and Blair had barely blinked. _Our collective past,_ Jim mused. 

Jim opened the door expecting to find Blair tapping away on his keyboard, papers scattered from one end of the loft to the other. Instead, Jim found him standing at the oversized front window, as if studying the fine rain. Although the primal rhythms coming from the CD player still sounded completely foreign, this time Jim could make out a plaintive and melancholy cadence. Why hadn’t he noticed before? 

The sounds nearly obscured the beat of Blair’s heart, but not enough. Jim set down the bundle of plastic dishes and walked up close behind him, hemming in him. Their reflections were visible in the glass. 

“I’m sorry your mother couldn’t be here,” Jim found himself saying softly. “I know how important holidays are to you. I know you want to be with family.”

“I should be used to it, really.” Blair leaned against him slightly and Jim felt a sigh resonate like a purr. It took him by surprise. But then again, everything about their unorthodox relationship seemed surprise Jim these days. How were Sentinels and Guides supposed to act anyway?

“Getting used to something doesn’t make it right, Chief,” Jim said as the aboriginal vibes came to an end. 

“Trying to pin down my mother is like trying to nail jello to a tree. She’s a free spirit. I wouldn’t want to change that. Everyone should be free to be who they are,” Blair replied simply.

 _Christ._ Despite Blair’s youth, he proved time and again that his was an ancient soul. Jim may be the one with the heightened senses, but he suddenly wished he had Blair’s wisdom instead. His patience and understanding of human nature. 

“Hey, what's that you brought in, anyway?” Suddenly Blair twisted around and away from Jim. 

Jim turned along with him, following his gaze to the Tupperware he'd set on the counter. 

“Thanksgiving leftovers. Captain Banks brought them in. He told me to share them with you.”

Blair chuffed out a laugh. “I guess the bad ass has a soft spot after all. What are we waiting for?” They went into the kitchen area and warmed the containers one by one in the microwave - turkey, dressing, sweet potatoes topped with mini marshmallows and green beans smothered in mushroom soup. All straight from Betty Crocker’s playbook. 

The kitchen filled with appealing aromas. Considering it was prepared by a police captain and his teenaged son, the food was appetizing if not particularly creative. Apparently Simon had some latent hidden talents Jim might be bringing to his attention in the future. 

“This sure beats the cheese sandwich I ate earlier,” Blair said as he enthusiastically filled his plate. 

Jim was relieved that his roomie’s dark mood seemed to have lightened and he turned his attention to loading up a plate of his own. They both sat at the table but then, just as Jim was about to take a big bite of turkey dripping with gravy, Blair reached over and laid a hand on his arm. 

“Wait a minute, Jim.”

“What now?”

“It's tradition that we tell each other what we're thankful for before we dig in.” Blair told him. 

“Oh, right.” Jim nodded. What could it hurt to humor the kid? He laid the fork down on his plate, then looked around and cleared his throat. “I guess I'm thankful for my job and my health. Things like that.”

Mists of rain continued to play lightly at the window and a clock on the wall ticked. With Blair’s help, Jim realized the accentuated sounds had become comforting rather than unnerving. 

“I'm grateful for you . . .me . . . this,” Blair said, a nearly ethereal glow on his face. 

Jim had been accused of being dense once or twice in his life but this time he knew instinctively that Blair wasn’t referring to the meal. It warmed him in places he'd forgotten he’d grown cold. 

“You're right about me wanting to be with family tonight but one thing I’ve learned from studying anthropology is that there’s more to family than DNA,” Blair confirmed. 

Jim nodded again, caught in the pull of Blair’s bright eyes. _Shared traditions prepare us for the future. They tie us together._

Maybe holidays weren’t so bad after all. Jim knew he'd continue to wish for a warmer relationship with his father and brother, a better understanding of his mother, just as Blair would always long for Naomi to reconsider her priorities. Jim saw himself a realist, but the dreamer inside Blair had become his counterweight. The bond growing between them was their fulcrum. Sentinel and Guide. They would learn to accept their families of origin for what they were. And be free to create a new one that was theirs to define. 

That was something Jim would forever be thankful for. Along with the fact that Simon hadn’t forgotten to pack the pumpkin pie. 

**FIN**


End file.
